


Laughing Lion

by Lenti



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Casterly Rock, Elements taken from the books and the TV show, F/M, Gen, King's Landing, Nice-Guy-Petyr, Petyr would be the worst enabler for Cersei’s worst impulses, Pre - Robert's Rebellion, Sibling Incest, Tourney at Lannisport, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, fostering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 03:17:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19164733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenti/pseuds/Lenti
Summary: In the War of the Ninepenny Kings, the smallest lord of the Finger befriends the young Lion of Casterly Rock during a time when the name Lannister was mocked throughout the Westerlands. Years later, Tywin Lannister agrees to foster his friend’s son, a young boy of little means and upstart aspirations.





	Laughing Lion

**Author's Note:**

> Petyr’s father became friends with Hoster Tully in the Ninepenny Kings war, which was how Hoster agreed to foster Petyr, so it led me to wondering what if Petyr’s father had instead befriended a young Tywin Lannister - how might the story turn out differently if Petyr had been fostered at Casterly Rock. I incorporated stories and events from Petyr’s childhood at Riverrun, and Cersei and Jaime’s at Casterly Rock. I’m a fan of young Petyr Baelish, and I’ve always thought that he was rather idealistic like a young Sansa Stark.

He comes to Casterly Rock, a slight boy of little means, all his worldly possessions contained in a lumpy sack. He’s too young to squire but nearly old enough to serve as a page.

The opulence of the Rock both blinds and captivates him from the start.

Lord Tywin - his father's old friend from the War of the Ninepenny Kings - is away. He is Hand and rules the capital in the name of the king, and Father hopes that Petyr might take after him. But Lord Tywin is not even here to take his full mark of the young boy.

Instead, Tywin’s lady wife looks after Petyr, welcoming him into her home with open arms and a warm bosom. Joanna Lannister is beautiful and gracious - more beautiful than anything on his father's small, miserable strip of land.

But it is her daughter that leaves him flustered and feeling painfully inadequate. Cersei Lannister is two years older, a golden princess. She's not very kind at all, and she turns her nose up at him, but Petyr recalls the fairytales of his younger days. Nothing worthwhile ever was won without a struggle.

Her twin brother is easier. Jaime is snarky and vain, but he’s not cruel, and Petyr gets along with Jaime with ease. He only needs to smile and nod, offering quiet quips here and there. The older boy tolerates him well enough, but he also dubs him “Littlefinger” - dually mocking his small stature and the finger islands from which he hails.

“It is an exceedingly clever nickname,” Petyr allows him to believe. Cersei laughs at the name too - but Petyr misremembers the fact.

The twins play with Petyr everyday. It is not so much a choice as an obligation, but they have fun all the same. Cersei likes to play family - she the mother, Jaime the father, and Petyr the child. 

Petyr protested at first. “You can’t marry your _brother_.” He’s aghast, even as a boy.

Cersei only scowls, her fine features darkening in a cloud of displeasure. “First - ” Jaime stands in the background, watching idly as his sister intimidates the younger boy. “ - Targaryens have married brother and sister for centuries. Second, we are only playing pretend. Third, if you don’t want to be the baby then you shouldn’t act the whining child.”

She’s cutting and cruel, but as the son of a petty lord Petyr is accustomed to swallowing his pride. And Cersei’s golden good looks are the salve that keeps his festering resentment at bay.

At least, as her baby, Cersei coddles and dotes upon him - she is never so sweet to him as she is in their games. But her fondness for her imaginary child eventually wins him into her good graces.

She makes him mudpies and watches him eat them all with gleaming green eyes. “Do you like them?”

Petyr nods, mouth full of gritty mud. Its bitter, but otherwise it doesn’t taste like anything. That makes it easier to stomach.

When Petyr takes ill for a week, Septa Saranella presses him to confess why he had eaten the mudpies, but he refuses to give Cersei up.

For his loyalty, Cersei sits at his bedside for a week. (Jaime is in the courtyard, training to be the knight his father and uncles have been. Cersei and Jaime had gotten too old to switch clothes, for Cersei to masquerade as Jaime and take lessons in his place.)

* * *

Lord Tywin returns to the Rock. His lady wife is with child, and he kisses her before turning his stare onto Petyr, appraising him. Tywin Lannister thinks of everything in terms of numbers - as Hand, he’s held the seven realms together for ten year while the king slips further and further into depravity.

Petyr is sent to train with Jaime in the courtyard from thereafter.

It’s a disaster for Petyr. He possesses none of Jaime’s natural talent. The older boy outshines him in every aspect of swordplay, riding, and archery.

But Petyr is unable to give up. Not when Cersei watches from above, looking down with her hard green eyes. She always cheers for Jaime, but he finds it difficult to place the fault with her. No one wants to make a losing bet. He has to prove himself first, as all the great heroes have done. The Dragonknight and Queen Naerys. Florian and his Jonquil.

Petyr is sparring with Jaime in the courtyard when Lady Joanna goes into labour. Jaime is distracted by the news, and Petyr takes the opportunity to flick his sword from his fingers with a hard strike. (Jaime repays him by seizing his shoulder and flinging him into the dirt.)

Cersei has disappeared with her aunt, Genna Lannister. The birthing bed is no place for men or boys, but Lord Lannister disappears too.

Petyr doesn’t think much of the news. As he and Jaime clean up for the day, Cersei appears at the entrance to the armory, running into Jaime’s arms. She’s sobbing - furious, gasps for air. Their mother is dead.

Jaime soothes her, intimate and entirely ignorant of Petyr.

Petyr’s never felt more like a shadow on the wall, so he watches.

* * *

He had delighted in teasing Cersei, but the spark is gone. All of her ire is now purely reserved for the youngest Lannister, an utterly underwhelming, stunted infant with no lion claws or evil eyes.

Jaime shrinks away from her venom, but Petyr is just as quick to fill the void her twin has left. He sits beside Cersei in the gardens of Casterly Rock as she waxes poetic hatred in increasingly in-depth and creative thoughts.

“He should have died by now,” she remarks doubtfully, sourly. “He should not have lived this long.” Cersei tells him this often, but to no one else, at first.

When the Martells arrive, it is too soon. But Tywin is lord paramount of the Westerlands and he receives the Dornish visitors with all the due courtesies.

The Dornish princess is beautiful, a dark-eyed and dark-haired woman in the non-conventional sense, but nevertheless striking. Her children, Princess Elia and Prince Oberyn Martell, are older than Petyr, older than Cersei or Jaime by many years.

Petyr finds himself trading blows with Oberyn more than once. The older boy is impulsive and hot-headed, and thinks nothing of putting a smaller child in his place. Jaime intervenes, himself suddenly tempered by the presence of more temperamental figures. But Jaime doesn’t care for the Dornish guests any more than Cersei or Petyr.

It is only a few nights before the Martells are to return to their Dornish kingdom when the princess broaches the topic of marriage.

They are standing in the gardens of Casterly Rock. Petyr is hiding from Cersei and Jaime for a game, but he has hid so well that the lord and princess have not taken notice of him. He thought it better that it should stay that way. He presses himself more firmly into the hedge, grateful for the cover of the night. But the pair are too engrossed to notice a darker shadow in the foliage.

“My Lord Lannister,” the princess smiles courteously, all red lips and white teeth. “Lady Joanna and I were dearest friends at court. She always spoke fondly of the idea of one day uniting our houses. Your daughter should come to live at Sunspear, make friends with my children and wed my son, Oberyn, when she comes of age.”

The invocation of the late Lady Lannister does nothing to soften her widow.

“Cersei is meant for Prince Rhaegar,” Lord Tywin informs her coolly. He has never seemed quite so tall before.

The Dornish Princess starts in surprise. But she ought to have not. Although the thought of Cersei being shipped away to marry the dragon prince stirs something unhappy in Petyr’s heart, he could not have fathomed why she might have thought to suggest the match at all. It is an awful exchange. Cersei, the only daughter of a Great Lord and Hand of the King, to wed the second son, the third heir of Sunspear? He is only relieved when Tywin flatly refuses.

But the Dornish princess tries again. “My daughter, Elia, is yet unmarried - and unpromised. She could wed your son in seven or nine years time.”

Elia is ten years Jaime’s elder. She is sickly and frail. Petyr doesn’t need to continue eavesdropping to know how the rest of the discussion plays out. Lord Tywin and his guest draw further and further away, and as soon as it is wise, Petyr creeps out from his hiding place and returns to the castle to surrender himself to the twins and share his information.

But Jaime and Cersei have already given up looking for him. Ser Tygett, the twins’ favourite uncle ( Petyr’s as well), informs him that they were last seen conspiring with the Martell siblings.

This development alarms Petyr. He searches the castle, pacing through the halls and peeking into doorways, and finally finds the four in Tyrion’s nursery.

Jaime is grabbing Cersei’s hand, inside Tyrion’s cribe. “Enough.”

She allows it. She doesn’t see Petyr. “It doesn't matter.” Her voice is as chilly as her lord father’s. “Everyone says he will die soon.” Cersei looks down at the cradle, her beautiful face marred by a look of contempt far more potent than her few years, declaring, “I hope they are right. He should not have lived this long.”

When the Dornish brother and sister leave - Oberyn looking disappointed and Elia vaguely perturbed - Jaime remains with Tyrion.

Cersei allows Petyr to escort her back to her room, to play the role of her gallant protector.

“I learned something interesting,” Petyr teases her. She’s not so vicious when Tyrion is out of her sight.

Cersei affords him a glance, her eyebrows still furrowed. “And?” She demands, haughty as ever. Command comes easily to her.

“The Princess of Dorne has proposed that you should marry Oberyn - ” Petyr watches her face closely. “And Jaime for Elia.”

Cersei makes a face, but she doesn’t appear alarmed. Her silence beckons for him to continue.

“Your father has already informed her that you are promised for Rhaegar Targaryen.”

* * *

As it turns out, Cersei is merely _meant_ for Rhaegar. No promises were yet made between Houses Targaryen and Lannister.

Petyr cannot compete with Jaime in the traditional expectations of a noble son, but he excels in histories, arithmetics, and sigils.

Jaime is forced to sit at a desk and read for hours by his lord father. Until a maester confirms, Petyr had believed that he was simply making excuses when the older boy claimed that the letters reverse themselves in his head.

It’s a hot summer day when the children retreat to the bowels of Casterly Rock. Jaime leads the way, a torch in hand, as Cersei leads Petyr by the hand.

“Climb into the cage,” Jaime smirks at Petyr, egging him on. The children are standing in front of one of the cages containing the late Lord Tytos’ lions. They’re captive but far from domesticated or tamed.

But pride doesn’t hold the same meaning for Lannisters and Baelishs. Petyr shakes his head softly. “After you, Jaime.”

It’s a game the three of them like to play, daring one another to do more and more reckless things.

Jaime has once already dived off the cliffs of Casterly Rock and into the dark waters below. Cersei could not follow her brother, and neither could Petyr. But the moment of shame didn’t last long because Cersei had soon reported her brother’s mischief to their father.

Lord Tywin had roared “Lannisters don’t act like fools.”

Jaime had been punished with more heavy tomes of reading, leaving Petyr and Cersei to play alone.

Now though, Cersei lunges forward without a word, suddenly thrusting a fair hand in between the wrought iron bars.

Petyr watches blankly, his shock undoubtedly mirrored in Jaime.

The beast, the mighty emblem of House Lannister, turns its head. It stares at the children, at Cersei with sharp, amber eyes. It opens its black lips, a pink tongue reaching out to lick at the offered hand.

And yet Cersei does not pull away, not until Jaime regains his senses and tears her away from the cage.

The lion continues to stare at them, never starting, merely daring them.

Cersei lifts a fair brow, her hand slipping out from Jaime’s. “Your turn.” She’s staring at Jaime, not Petyr, never Petyr. “Pull his mane, I dare you.”

Petyr can only laugh. The maid of his dreams is bolder than any knight of the stories. And he ignores Jaime’s loathing look of reproach. He thinks his fingers are fast enough. Swift and light, he tugs at the lion’s great mane with little force, but nevertheless invoking the beast’s fierce snapping jaws.

He stumbles back, barely missing a serious maiming, his laugh frightened and uneasy. Cersei laughs; Jaime scoffs.

“You two are ridiculous,” Jaime says with all of the eloquence of a child. His eyes flickers between them, eventually focusing the blame on Petyr. “You keep egging each other on, one day one of you will be hurt.”

* * *

Cersei’s infatuation with Prince Rhaegar is as plain as day. In fact, it is becoming readily apparent that all young maids and their mothers throughout the Seven Kingdoms are hopelessly in love with the young dragon prince.

Petyr joins Cersei and her family at Lannisport for the tourney celebrating the birth of Prince Viserys. A baby brother that Rhaegar cannot marry. Petyr is eight and still not a squire. Cersei is ten, already regarded as beautiful and widely known to be unpromised throughout the Westerlands and beyond.

The tourney is a delightful affair, as magical as any fairytale. Cersei does not flinch from the blood or gore, and neither does Petyr. He watches intently as Ser Arthur Dayne unhorses Prince Rhaegar in the final tilts. The Sword of the Morning names his sister, young Lady Ashara, his queen of love and beauty for all of the spectators to witness.

(Jaime whispers that one day soon he will win Cersei the same honour.)

Petyr would like to stand in that same place of glory one day, perhaps even in Lannisport itself so that Cersei could recall the valour witnessed today in Ser Arthur. But his family and ancestors have only ever been sellswords and hedge knights even at their finest. He’s a dreamer - not a madman.

During the nighttime feasting, Rhaegar plays his harp. Half the room weeps. Princess Elia is sitting with her lady attendants, Lady Ashara Dayne counted among them. Cersei is seated with Jaime and Petyr, not in the same seats of honour afforded to the king, Lord Tywin, and their close advisors, but close enough.

The music is fair enough, but Petyr doesn’t think that Prince Rhaegar is anything more than a handsome face and talented fingers.

But even Jaime seems to have been won over by the prince, listening intently to all his stories and joining the other young boys in following the prince and kingsguard knights around the campgrounds.

A short time later, Lady Genna Lannister confines to Cersei that her betrothal to the crown prince shall be public knowledge in short time. Cersei, in turn, tells Petyr and Jaime, ignoring both boys’ affronted reactions.

She soon disappears with the female attendants her father intends for her to keep as her companions at Casterly Rock and the Red Keep: fat Jeyne Farman and Melara Hetherspoon.

Petyr is with Jaime and the eighth or ninth son of Lord Walder Frey. According to his son, Roland Crakehall, the Lord Crakehall means to take on Merrett Frey as his page. Jaime proudly alludes to the fact that Tywin means to take him to King’s Landing and squire for the prince.

Petyr is not mentioned, feeling invisible all the while, and he knows that his father has been forgotten again. But he would rather remain with Cersei, at Casterly Rock or the Red Keep, than follow Jaime back onto the training yard. Besides, Merrett Frey is a dumb brute of a boy and Petyr doesn’t have the sigil of golden lions nor Jaime’s natural talents to protect himself.

Later in the night, Jeyne Farman quietly returns without Cersei nor Melara. None but Petyr takes notice.

Jeyne, like Melara, is one of the few girls not already madly in love with Rhaegar. (Perhaps they knew that he was meant for Cersei; perhaps Cersei has already warned them off.) Instead, both girls are besotted with the golden heir of Casterly Rock. And both girls treat Petyr with a cool disdain, Melara the worst culprit.

Eventually, Cersei returns, slipping in besides Petyr and Jaime fluidly, Melara apparently not even a thought in anyone’s mind. Eventually though, search parties are sent out and by dawn the young girl is found drowned in a well.

In the aftermath of the discovery, Petyr catches Cersei’s eye but he never broaches the topic. He has no want for making waves.

By noon, Melara is already forgotten and as good as buried. (Her father, a humble landed knight, escorts her corpse home, alone.)

Petyr waits out the entire day, the last day of the tourney, taunt and tense. But Cersei and Rhaegar’s betrothal has seemingly been equally forgotten. There is no final feast, and the rest of the event occurs without incident, aside from a drunken brawl between one of the Lannisters of Lannisport and a knight of Aerys’ court.

In a few days’ time, the children are sent back to Casterly Rock and the king’s court returns to the capital.

At the Rock, Petyr is walking to his own room when he discovers Jaime stalking out of Cersei’s, a scowl sprawled over his face. Petyr looks at him questioningly, but Jaime only disappears behind a corner of the hall without even a brusque word.

Slipping into Cersei’s room and shutting the door behind him, Petyr joins her on her bedside. He’s silent, reaching a hand out to slip in between hers, warm and soft.

It is not very long before Cersei speaks, voice thick with tears. “I was supposed to be Rhaegar’s. Father _promised_ me.” She continues speaking, content with Petyr’s compliant silence. “Jaime doesn’t care. He only ever wanted to squire for Rhaegar. All he cares about is that Father will send him to Crakehall now. He doesn’t understand.”

“I understand,” Petyr speaks slowly, insistently. He wipes away a tear from Cersei’s cheek, silently marvelling at how she allowed him to touch her. “The king is mad for refusing you.”

That night, Petyr dreams that he is a knight at last, in sleek, silvery armour. He challenges Prince Rhaegar to a duel for Cersei’s honour and slays him to the applause of the realms.

* * *

A year later and Jaime has been sent to Crakehall as a ward. He writes to Cersei on a weekly basis - though it surely is taxing work for a boy who can hardly make sense of words on paper. He writes to Petyr only once or twice, but Petyr isn’t very heartbroken about the depth their friendship. Even his own father only writes to him every other fortnight.

Petyr is finally satisfied. He has been essentially forgotten by Lord Tywin Lannister, but the sting of the insult is soothed by Cersei’s company. Aside from the servants and handful of golden-haired, green-eyed Lannister relatives remaining on the Rock, he and Cersei are free to spend most of their days together in undisturbed peace.

Little Tyrion remains little, but he has outlived and impressed everyone’s expectations. The boy learns to tumble, even occasionally drawing out a rare laugh from his elder sister.

This allows Petyr to laugh as well. Tyrion follows Cersei and he around the Rock like an anxious mongrel. Cersei is more often cruel than indulgent, but nevertheless the younger boy persists.

Petyr is indifferent to Tyrion, always siding with Cersei when it comes to it, but otherwise he gets on with Tyrion. The younger boy is surprisingly quick-witted; Petyr even thinks that they may not be so different, but even as a dwarf and malformed, Tyrion will be as proud as any other member of House Lannister when he grows up. This is the line between the two boys.

When Lord Tywin returns to Casterly Rock, he puts an end to Tyrion’s tumbling antics, telling off Ser Tygett, for teaching the boy how to act the fool.

Tywin returns to King’s Landing in short time, now with Cersei and Petyr in tow.

It is at King’s Landing, in the privacy of the Hand’s Tower, that Cersei confines to Petyr. “Father says I may still yet marry Prince Rhaegar if that Dornish woman dies on the birthing bed.” Only a few years prior, Princess Elia and her brother had visited Casterly Rock, coming as friends to the Lannister twins. “Or I shall marry Prince Viserys when he comes of age.”

Prince Viserys is still an infant and Cersei his elder by ten years. But he is a prince, and so Petyr nods solemnly.

At Aerys’ court, Cersei is not a member of Princess Elia’s court of attendants. Lady Ashara Dayne and the other ladies-in-waiting to the princess skirt around the young Lady of Casterly Rock. And Petyr, although not oblivious to Cersei’s cold pride, concludes that as the tide of courtly opinion turns against the Hand, his daughter is equally affected.

Nevertheless, the offers of marriage and betrothal continue to stream in, unabated by Lord Tywin’s unrelenting resistance to any proposals for his daughter’s hand.

Petyr is not subjected to the same degree of scrutiny. Hardly anyone remembers that he is Lord Tywin’s ward or have even heard of the Fingers.

Instead he spends much of his time with the learned men of the court. Grand Maester Pycelle is a wizened old man, a friend to the Hand and consequently amiable to his daughter and ward. Lord Qarlton Chelsted is the Master of Coin, no friend to Tywin Lannister and in fact benefitting from the Hand’s increasingly tense relationship to the King. Nevertheless, Petyr also wins himself into the older man’s graces, impressing him with his general skill with arithmetics and novel ideas of finances.

It is the Spider that Petyr learns to grow wary of. The young, plump and perfumed man is the king’s constant shadow, whispering in Aerys’ ear. Varys is no friend of the Hand either, and as a foreigner and eunuch at that, it is difficult for Petyr to gauge where his true loyalty falls. But even despite Petyr’s general anonymity, he knows that any step he takes in King’s Landing does not go unnoticed in the Spider’s vast web.

Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia depart for Dragonstone. They will return to court present the newest Targaryen prince or princess in a few months’ time. Life at King’s Landing continues much the same as the king takes to burning traitors and schemers, forgoing the sword or noose.

Another year has passed when Jaime arrives at the capital, freshly knighted and more handsome than ever. Petyr watches the twin embrace with no small envy, only taking comfort in the fact that Jaime will soon after return to Casterly Rock, alone.

The very next day, Cersei invites him for a walk around the gardens. Petyr is ever wary of the Spider’s many eyes, and it is not until they return to Cersei’s private chambers that he entreats her to ask for her favour.

“My Father can’t know of this,” Cersei insists, her hands playing over the green fabrics of her dress. “I need King Aerys to raise Jaime to the Kingsguard. This needs to come from the mouth of another Small Council member.”

It is no small task, but over the years Petyr has grown adept at the machinations of the king’s court, and he is earnest to plant the seed and watch it take root.


End file.
